An Open Letter to a Restrained Friend
It feels like playing piano with mute pedal stuck and permanently pressed down.
If feels like driving with a hand break, back in those days when we had the good ole manual hand breaks instead of a damn button - can't drive up the hill anymore with those shitty new "smart" cars when your wheels are slipping on the finest Italian cobblestone - no chance to press the gas pedal and gradually release the hand break until the wheels gain some grip. Fuck it.
It feels like smoking 5 packs of cigarettes a day and then enjoying sushi. I have never lit a cigarette in my entire life, but I kind of picture the numbing effect Miss Nicotine could have on your taste buds. I've kissed enough smokers to know how it feels to lick an ashtray.
It is like trying to eat anything with full blown cold and 40 C fever - regardless what is in your mouth it all feels dead, just like your own self.
It feels like trying to run a marathon but you have just gotten out of bed, your both feet have fallen asleep and are just a tingly, wobbly, painful and unsafe mess to walk on - you know like in those nightmares where you really need to run away but your legs turn into dough just when you need them the most.
It is like trying to fuck with three condoms on. Yeah, I technically lack a dick this time around, but trust me: a triple-claded cock feels just like a rubber dildo with no texture whatsoever to a female, too. Slippery, tasteless and no grip at all. And to add an insult to the injury, that torture lasts forever. (Remember when I used to wear a watch on each wrist? Oh wait, you were not around back then! Ah, the joys of the late teens!)
This is more or less how it feels when you are around - numbness, dread, numbness, dread, occasional spurt of clear skies that allow me to accomplish the small, simple tasks I usually don't even notice, but that you oh so dauntingly love to complicate through your kaleidoscopic prism of shit.
Each and every most simple crap feels like climbing Mount Everest by strictly tiptoeing in ballet shoes, while trying to simultaneously tap-play "Aeroplane" bass solo with the one free hand you got and solve a Rubik's Cube with your nose. (I presume the other hand is engaged into holding onto the cliff and the cube at the same time).
What I love about our particular combo is that, even though you are around, on the outside I am perceived as someone utterly positive, almost as bearing some kind of überhuman superpowers.
Ha! And it is not a lie! The absurdity of this condition is that - yeah - I do happen to have a super-power or two. Just for some reason I am unable to enjoy them.
Could you please tell me how long are you planning to stick around? I know, it is Berlin, it is November, it is cold and grey and shitty and no one likes to be homeless under such meteorological conditions - however since you own the gift of teleporting yourself unexpectedly, can't you just go to some nice, sunny tropical island and NOT take me with you? Or travel up north to the looms and glooms of the Fennoscandia that may suit your own mood better? Wherever, as long as you take a break from me.
For I need a break, asap.
I sometimes like the games we play: how many days without combing our hair before the first dreadlocks will appear, how many forgotten teas standing by the stove, how many rotting to-do lists in a day?
However, there are some games that are not my (forgotten) cup of tea - like making my hand slip off of that SEND button on way too many e-mails for my taste. Or the words of utter discouragement you like to whisper in my ear a tad too often. Unfounded, unnecessary, irrational - but for some reason I can't un-hear them.
So please, my door is open, your suitcase half-packed and the world vast and free for you to roam. I promise I won't be lonely in the meantime.
ps. Important Disclaimer: the Miss Stereochemistry Aliens travel on a different wavelength compared to my friend so they never encounter.